


love, through a looking glass

by haechansheaven



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - After College/University, Alternate Universe - College/University, Divorce, M/M, Mark Lee (NCT)-centric, Mental Health Issues, Minor Huang Ren Jun/Suh Youngho | Johnny, Minor Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas/Qian Kun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:21:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26354104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haechansheaven/pseuds/haechansheaven
Summary: Mark and Donghyuck meet freshman year of college in a classroom. They hate each other at first, but some of the best friendships start that way, even if you aren’t ready to realize it yet.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan & Mark Lee, Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Moon Taeil
Comments: 4
Kudos: 33





	love, through a looking glass

**Author's Note:**

> this is not edited. i do not want to edit this, as it is almost two in the morning.  
> if there are any glaring issues that you feel absolutely CANNOT wait, feel free to dm me on twitter (@atsusaurus).
> 
>  **Additional/Expanded Tags** : Aroace Mark Lee, Partying, Brief mention of recreational drug use (marijuana), Brief mention of underage drinking, Mental health issues (implied, vaguely described).

Mark watches the middle of a love story turn into the end with only the smallest bits of the beginning unfurling themselves after everything is said and done. There’s something frightening about that, really, and he wonders if this is the fate of those around him. This isn’t the first time he’s watched the remnants of things crash and burn into ashes before his very eyes. Perhaps he’s cursed.

Oh, but this isn’t _his_ story. This is a story through _Mark’s_ eyes, and there’s something to be said about watching a reckoning from the outside looking in like some fucked up sort of audience. And, sure, telling it feels like hijacking something deeply personal—something he shouldn’t be able to mold with his own words—but he’s not sure how else to think about these sorts of things and let them go.

So, Mark sits in front of his computer and thinks and thinks and, eventually, begins to _write_. It’s how all stories start, even if this one is something of a conundrum that the world stares at and thinks about who they should blame.

Mark and Donghyuck meet freshman year of college in a classroom. They hate each other at first, but some of the best friendships start that way, even if you aren’t ready to realize it yet. Mark is leaving home for the first time, across and between countries to settle in a small liberal arts college in the middle of a state so much bigger than he expected. Donghyuck is an overachiever, an immigrant, a first-generation college student hungry for a future that he can feel between his fingers if he closes his eyes.

It’s funny, because Mark’s given his phone number on a piece of paper he tucks into a binder pocket without giving it much thought, ignoring it as he listens to Donghyuck and Renjun prattle on about how _in love_ they are, how ready they are for the next stage of life while Mark stares at a computer screen and wonders how he keeps coming in third.

Gaze held down, chin tucked against his chest, Mark takes step after step; incremental indications of progress towards the future he wants. He’s not good at making first impressions and he’s surely not great at maintaining them, either. Two friends are lost before he knew he even had them and replaced with one that Mark doesn’t yet know will stay by his side for years to come.

Plenty of other things happen, but Mark is eighteen and the world passes by faster than he can remember things. He passes classes, pulls all-nighters, and laughs enough for twenty people. Things aren’t perfect—they rarely are—but as the days pass, Mark pushes the transfer paperwork to the back of his mind and learns to exist in the world that he’s been given. Life doesn’t come cheap and, well, who is he to reject something so pleasant?

He rushes by accident—“Free t-shirts!” “Sick.”—and is accepted, by accident—“We like go-getters like you!”—and exists in the weird periphery of Panhellenic of students who are shoved into niche circumstances as an example.

“Mark does research on campus,” they say, almost gesturing to him as if he is a trophy, “and yet still maintains good standing in the fraternity. We look for diversity, too.”

He wears his identities on his sleeve in the sort of way that the world looks at and thinks, well, if he can do it, why can’t it? He’s a cornerstone piece that brings more like him into the world and allows him to drift to the shadows, fall under the radar, and get drunk at parties he doesn’t belong at. College whispers to him that he should push his boundaries and Mark thinks, _okay. Okay, I can do that_. Face pressed against the cold tile of his dorm room at nineteen years of age, he doesn’t yet know that Donghyuck sits in his dorm room and texts a boyfriend thousands of miles away instead of finding a space between people to fit in.

Ironically, their paths are, at this point, more painfully linear than either of them realizes.

It will take three years of friendship and drunken conversations to reach that conclusion, though.

Taeil.

It’s a name that Mark becomes acquainted with quickly, tying it together with Donghyuck’s in a box wrapped in holographic wrapping paper and with a bow that makes the whole thing an eyesore more than anything else. There’s a separate one reserved for Renjun and Johnny, and Mark places a warning on the tendrils of the ribbon—DO NOT OPEN—because it’s a sort of thing that he never wants to see.

Renjun and Donghyuck, you see, are something of a _pair_ at the beginning. They chase the same sort of dream with the same hunger, and Mark steps out of their way and watches them trample the people around them to reach a goal that Mark, too, wants, and yet hesitates to run towards. They exist in a different world than him, and for a while, he’s content to exist away from them all, living his own life and turning his head when others complain.

Life grabs a taser and shocks Mark, already soaking wet from being thrown into a pool. Things are never easy, after all. Donghyuck introduces Mark as a _friend_ to his mother who hopped onto a plane and flew her way to America to watch the new life that Donghyuck molded for himself. Lips forming around words before he can say anything else, Mark’s hands sweat more than usual in nitrile gloves as Donghyuck’s mother takes a photo of them.

“Thank you for being Donghyuck’s friend,” she whispers none-too-quietly in the laboratory. Mark stands beside the bench, palms held to the sky, as he smiles. “I was worried about him… But I feel better now.”

Mark _knows_ guilt. It’s chained to his ankles and he drags it with him everywhere. He’s twenty now and understands how heavy it is to carry, how much easier it is to drag behind him. “Sure,” he says, lying between his teeth, gaze flitting to Donghyuck, who looks at him with surprise from behind his mother. “Donghyuck’s great. I’m really lucky to be his friend, to be honest.”

A mother’s love is no competition for a mother’s worry, and Mark can only hope that his words put her concerns to rest for as long as possible.

 _Thanks_ , Donghyuck messages him later, _and I’m sorry_.

Scoffing at the message that lights up his screen, Mark stares out the window of the laboratory to the greenery behind the building and wishes that he could be outside on a Saturday like everyone else. Instead, the world beckons him inside and he relinquishes his freedom for a future that he chases quietly, watching the backs of those that run in front of him.

Sarcoma cells are stained a deep purple in a twenty-four well dish that Mark thinks are interesting, but not in the way that life is.

It all makes more sense in his head.

Friendships tend to begin unexpectedly and end just as unexpectedly. Renjun is still a polite stranger, even if he greets Mark like they’ve known each other for years as Donghyuck embraces Mark and brings them into their world like he’s always belonged.

And there’s the kicker, because Mark hasn’t, even if they work together and chase the same dream. He’s hungry, but not in the same sort of way they are. Mark isn’t starving—not yet—and he’s learning to be content at running the fastest _he_ can run, rather than watching the people around him and trying to figure out what exactly he lacks.

Mark smiles brightly like the sun when a professor commends him for improvement, asks him how he did it, tells him that he’s a reference if he needs one in the future. Mark tilts his head to the side and brushes off confusion when Donghyuck and Renjun curse the very man’s name. Things don’t have to be the same for friends, and Mark is content in holds his own stories to his chest and only speaking when asked.

You see, a million and one things can happen in a matter of months, and Mark watches a beloved professor move several states away, changes his major, and laces his fingers together in lab meetings that feel suffocating.

This is probably where Donghyuck comes in, but if you ask Mark in the future, he still isn’t sure. People revolve and rotate around Mark in the sort of way that’s kind of funny in the best sort of way. He holds them at an arm’s length, but in the sort of way that people _like_ , and they try to hold him close even if he doesn’t want it.

Yukhei raises his nose at Donghyuck and Mark, for a while, gets it. And then he doesn’t.

A million and one things can happen in a matter of months, after all.

They’re two years through college and standing on their own two feet in a nice sort of way, and Donghyuck plays music on the computer and Mark smiles and laughs because, yeah, Panic! at the Disco is good to pass the time away. It’s where their friendship _really_ begins in a funny sort of way, because Yukhei is there, too, and it takes Mark staring him in the eyes and explaining everything he knows because he thinks that Donghyuck deserves at least that much.

Donghyuck is an over-sharer, as it happens, and this is how Mark _learns_ about Taeil and about Donghyuck and about the dreams that he chases relentlessly and with a fervor that leaves Mark staring at the stains left on pavement by tires as they skid to a stop.

Taeil is older, and he works as in IT on a contract back in Korea, and they met on a video game when Donghyuck was thirteen. He’s funny—or so Donghyuck says—and he sends hundreds of messages throughout the day, time difference be damned. There’s not much else to him that Mark ever really learns, but he finds himself content with his position, a delicate distance that’s easily crossable, but something he’s afraid of.

Mark learns that Donghyuck is helplessly in love with Taeil in the storybook sort of way, and they watch together, through photos, as Johnny proposes to Renjun in front of a lake after his white coat ceremony. There’s a lot to unpack there, and all Mark does is listen to Donghyuck talk about things that he has so place in.

Renjun, for all it’s worth, is a stranger. Will remain a stranger.

Donghyuck is different. He makes Mark and him lunches when Yukhei’s internship on campus ends for the summer and it’s just them left, eating quinoa and chicken from paper plates in a dirty kitchen at four in the afternoon. He talks about how he ended up _here_ , in a small college town in another country, and Mark listens politely, at first, and enraptured, much later.

For what it’s worth, Mark learns to get along with Donghyuck in a gentle sort of way, texts Yukhei to tell him that things aren’t the same without him on campus, and packs up his things to spend two weeks at home.

There are a million and one things happening at once, and Mark takes them one step at a time.

Yukhei studies abroad in the fall, and Mark decides on the spring, and that’s sort of a test for them that they ace with flying colors, gaps made up through phone calls and messages and photos. His fraternity rushes, Mark pushes himself farther to the back, and he’s twenty-one, now, drinking until drunk already losing its luster.

This is where Mark begins to walk his own path and where Donghyuck decides to traverse it with him for a little while.

And then Mark hops onto a plane to study in another country, stares at Dejun Xiao from across the classroom, and laughs, because this is one way to get to know someone who has always existed at the periphery of his vision. And Dejun is quiet, but funny; unbridled and blunt in his observations that sends Mark for a loop at first and makes him understand Dejun a little better at second.

He tells this to Donghyuck on a whim, and Donghyuck laughs and asks how Mark gets to know these things, gets to know _people_ , so well.

“There’s no secret,” Mark says over Facetime, chin resting on his palm. “I think I just listen really well.”

Donghyuck, through flips backwards through rings of fire, studies abroad in Korea; spends weekends with Taeil.

 _I’m happy_ , Donghyuck tells him.

And Mark believes him.

 _I’m glad_ , Mark writes back with sincerity. _Won’t be too long until you’re together for good, right?_

Donghyuck replies with an emoji and Mark flips through a workbook and that’s that. Time passes quickly when you’re settling into a new path of life, and yet it still tends to throw curve balls aimed straight at your eye.

“Congrats,” Mark says, honestly, because he _means_ it. And Donghyuck just looks starstruck—sort of, but Mark doesn’t question that part—as he searches for a new song to listen to on YouTube, the music flowing out of the speakers perched on a bookshelf far too high for any of them to reach. “When’s the wedding?”

“Do you wanna help me look at invitation designs?”

Mark does, over a two-hour lunch break they shouldn’t have taken but do. It’ll be in Korea, and it’ll be a small ceremony, and Mark listens as Donghyuck prattles on and on about the wedding. All things considered, Mark still exists at the periphery; eyes his phone as it lights up with a message from Yukhei about breaking his water bottle on his walk to his new internship, and only looks up when Donghyuck turns his laptop and asks for his opinion.

Their days pass like this, quiet and gentle in a nice sort of way, and Mark hums as Donghyuck asks him if he thinks he’ll have a plus one for the wedding.

“No,” Mark replies before he can stop himself. His laugh is nervous, rolling from his mouth and bouncing like an uneven rubber ball all over the place. The concept of _togetherness_ with another person is something that Mark doesn’t want to address with anyone else—not yet, anyways. It’s something he’s still figuring out. All he knows is that he’s happy as he is. “Why?”

“It won’t be for a while, but it’s going to be abroad for you, so I think it would be good to give your significant other a heads up as soon as possible.”

Mark forgets about this moment as soon as it happens, because that’s the way his mind works.

He’ll remember this a few years down the road, staring at the picture of a wedding invitation from his mom. For now, though, it’s nothing but a passing moment he doesn’t put much stock in. They’re not _that_ close, after all, and isn’t it Mark’s comfort to exist in the periphery?

Senior year—his _final_ year—is a whirlwind maelstrom in the worst sort of fucking way, because the fall semester is a fucking dream and then everything falls to fucking pieces in the spring.

This is how it unravels:

Mark applies to graduate school in the fall, eyeing PhD programs across North America with a hunger he didn’t have before and a fleshed-out dream he thinks he can see. The GRE is hell, but he wakes up to a hand-written note from Donghyuck and a promise of a smoothie when he returns to campus. He defends his honors thesis with flying colors, loves his roommates, and thrives in the sort of way he never thought he would. Life moves with a smoothness it never used to have as he aces his classes, learns new things, and feels his heart settle into a calm.

There is nothing set in stone for life, though. Mark is handed rejection after rejection after rejection, and stares the concept of mortality in the face as he looks at his father from across and table and wonders if he was a little older, a little smarter, he could figure out what ails him so. Donghyuck messages him to remember his worth and Mark says thank you, cries over the phone, and then picks himself back up because there are other things to figure out in life.

Donghyuck is handed acceptance after acceptance after acceptance, and Mark doesn’t look at the backs of the people around him anymore, and instead he listens to Donghyuck list out the pros and cons of each program, writing them down for him as if a personal scribe to a king. It’s not that far off of a comparison, really, and Mark doesn’t mind it. Donghyuck’s story isn’t his own, after all. He’s meant to be a supporting character.

Snow melts, time passes, and Mark receives an interview, an offer, and reason to celebrate. It’s timely, coming with the turn of seasons. Nothing good lasts.

It’s one thing to fly across and between countries to visit your dying grandfather who only recognizes you in a brief moment of clarity over the course of a week. It’s another to return to campus and receive a call that you should turn back, get on another plane, and get ready to say your goodbyes.

Mark gets the call in the middle of class on a Wednesday, and he drops everything, because it’s family, and in the end it’s what Mark wants to do, and the world can’t stop him.

Yukhei texts him grievances and Donghyuck says that he’ll be there when Mark gets back.

Here’s a spoiler: Mark never gets to say goodbye, but he doesn’t get a chance to grieve, either, though that’s another story for another day.

When he returns, heart heavier and chin lower, there’s a letter and a stuffed animal and a necklace on his bed. Donghyuck is already asleep and the only light comes from his phone as he reads the letter and cries because even if he’s the supporting character in their stories, he’s the main character in _his_ , and this is what it means to be loved, apparently.

The key on the end of the necklace reads strength, and Donghyuck walks beside him to their cafeteria, talking as if nothing has changed.

Everything has, but Mark doesn’t mind. They meet Yukhei at the door, and that is that. Mark takes another step forward.

In the mountains, hidden between trees, is a cabin, and that’s where they all find themselves, celebrating Donghyuck’s engagement a year late in the week between containment and freedom. Mark’s eye is set on graduation, mind preoccupied as they reminisce, play games, and settle into a chaotic schedule as a storm takes out their electricity, and Mark is the only one sober enough to start the grill and make tacos in a cast iron skillet as the others watch with unfocused eyes.

He eats an edible, and then an entire box of Cheeze-Its, and relishes this happiness.

This is a moment, and it’s gone before Mark can think of it much. His mind lays down the facts for him. Donghyuck is getting married, Donghyuck is happy to be getting married, and Donghyuck thinks of him enough to invite him on this adventure.

The very same Donghyuck who admitted to him at one in the morning, a documentary on Casey Anthony paused on his laptop, that he almost transferred from schools. That he had no friends because he chased his dreams too relentlessly and hurt the people around him in the process. Mark doesn’t really get it, but he listened and tilted his head to the side as Donghyuck asked if Mark remembered his mom from their second year of college and— _ah_ , Mark understood suddenly, like a lightning bolt striking him on a clear, sunny day.

“I wasn’t really sure if we were friends, but I told my mom we were, because, well, you know, she was worried. I was miserable. I didn’t have any friends freshman year. But you were there, and we worked together, and so I thought… and so you went along with it, and I realized that maybe we were.”

And Mark had pressed his lips together when he wanted to say, _we weren’t_ , and had watched as Donghyuck pressed play again.

From the outside, Donghyuck appears to have it all. Mark thinks that they must all look that way to some degree. And to varying degrees, it’s not true.

And this storm passes, and they dress in regalia, and this is where Mark _meets_ Taeil. He’s funny, with a good sense of humility, and he looks at Donghyuck like he’s his entire world and _more_ , so Mark decides that they work. He includes Mark in conversations while they pack up their apartment, cracks jokes, and adds a bit of life to a dying spark.

Graduation means moving on from this place, and from the memories Mark has made, and he never thought he would love a place that gave him so much fucking hell in this sort of way, but he does, and it’s a melancholy, bitter feeling to leave it all behind. Things, after all, never stay good. Life is a series of challenges. This is simply another one.

Taeil thanks him for being Donghyuck’s friend and Mark thinks to himself, I think I got lucky, actually, as he laughs and says, “Why are you thanking me?”

All humans are a little lonely, all humans crave a little company, and all humans exist at the center of their own solar system, gravity pulling individuals into orbit. Mark just happened to stumble upon Donghyuck’s.

New apartments feel empty, and Mark fills the silence with music, dancing, and staring out into the sunlight. Adjustment is never easy, yet drowning himself in his mind is, and this is how things start falling apart.

Regardless, there’s an invitation to a wedding in Korea with Mark’s name on it, and he goes, booking a ticket, counting down the days, and flying across a country and an ocean to witness a ceremony, offer cash, and enjoy a country he’s only been back to a handful of times. Mark wanders Seoul with Hendery, makes Taeil laugh, and watches Donghyuck thrive. Things are a little more complicated than that, and Mark gets it, he really does, and he lets the shadow over all of them settle in the distance for now.

It’s a momentary happiness, ripping Mark from his thoughts, before life thrusts him back into reality, and the most he can do is relive memories through photos and a thank you card that has his parents questioning if he went abroad for a wedding or to out-drink everyone at the wedding.

 _A drinking monster?_ his father asks as he sends a photo. _What did you do?_

Mark laughs at the card, assures his father it’s nothing, and holds onto the memory with a sort of fondness, despite his inability to remember most of that night.

And, now, Donghyuck is farther away, now, studying diligently and working hard; a married man now, with distinct goals, and yet he feels closer to Mark now. Friendships are funny that way. Yukhei is much the same. Distance, if anything, has brought them closer. They talk every night about life, and that is how Mark learns about Kun; a man that Lucas speaks about with a fondness that brushes a weight off Mark’s shoulders.

Everyone is settled and happy.

That is how Mark’s mind wraps itself in a shield of sadness and exists. There are a plethora of unresolved things swirling around Mark’s mind, his mental health crumbling into pieces that he can’t be bothered to pick up. There are thousands of reasons that Mark feels this way, and none of them are within his grasp. It’s easy enough to add exclamation marks to messages, smile for an hour on Facetime, and exist at the periphery of a life that beckons him home.

It always has existed on the periphery, a small monster that tugged gently on the hem on Mark’s sweater when he was younger, growing beside him into its own rugged form, clawed hands heavy on his shoulders. _Live_ , it says, _but not too much_. And that is how Mark exists.

That is how Mark falls off the face of the planet, settles himself into molding himself into a person online that he can convince himself is actually _him_ , and loses touch with people for weeks at a time.

The world is proverbially—soon to be _literally_ —on fire when Mark realizes it’s been four months since he last heard from Donghyuck. And it’s not unusual for radio silence between them to stretch for days, perhaps even weeks, but this one feels off, and stale, and Mark doesn’t think about it until pictures of Donghyuck and Taeil are wiped from the internet and his social media is deactivated and someone probes Mark’s mind.

“What happened?” they ask. “Are they separated?”

There are pros and cons to sticking oneself into a place they don’t belong. This is one of those instances.

So, he sends a picture of a cat with a stupid caption to Donghyuck and waits for a reply. It’s quick, and it’s an emoji, and Mark decides that beating around the bush with Donghyuck is stupid, because he wouldn’t do the same, and that’s not the kind of friendship they have.

So, Mark asks, _what’s up dude?_

 _I’m divorced now_ , Donghyuck replies. It’s succinct, and not the kind of response that Mark expected, but he lets Donghyuck take his time. _Or, I’m going through the process of getting a divorce. Do you know how hard it is to get divorced?_

 _No_ , Mark answers honestly. Because he doesn’t. He won’t, but that’s a discussion for another time. _I’m not sure what to say._

 _I don’t want your pity_. Straightforward, and ever so Donghyuck, Mark promises him that he won’t give him any. _I need your support, though. It’s hard. Everything is so hard._

Flood gates open and sweep Mark away. Donghyuck was happy, but, at some point, he _stopped_ being happy, starting thinking, and came to realizations that flipped his world upside-down. Taeil, after all, was a fixture in Donghyuck’s life for ten years and then suddenly _wasn’t_ , and that sort of thing is hard to figure out. Mark is no conduit for grace; he can’t simply pass judgment on something that he’s always only listened to from the other side of a theater curtain.

Donghyuck is _alone_ is the most that Mark can understand, four months after officially breaking things off and juggling the process of a divorce and a global pandemic that squeezes the life out of every process he had set in motion.

And the _guilt_. Mark fiddles with his phone as Donghyuck sends hundreds of messages explaining the situation, screenshots of private conversations he feels that he’s intruding on, and wonders how he became so swept up in the tendrils of his own mind that he let Donghyuck’s disappearance go unnoticed. It’s fitting, then, that Donghyuck fits Mark as the messenger—gives him the permission to explain things to people who are curious.

 _I just don’t want to explain it anymore_ , Donghyuck tells him before work on day.

So, Mark hits send on a message to their old roommates. This is a shitty form of repentance, and he carries the guilt even as the people around him tell him that this isn’t his fault.

A million and one things can change in a matter of months, and everything does. Mark handles it with no grace and falls apart at the behest of the world.

Donghyuck becomes a fixture in his life again and Yukhei tells him to stop making everything his problem.

 _You have your own_ , he says.

 _I know_ , replies Mark. _But if I can help, shouldn’t I?_

Mark heals, Donghyuck heals, and the world moves on in a clumsy, messy, fucked-up sort of way. The passage of time offers change and time to think and heal, and Mark takes its hand for once. It’s one thing to fumble through life blindly, and another to stumble through it with glasses, and another to stumble through it being able to see everything clearly. The sun is very bright after living in the darkness for so long.

Life is very lonely when your demon was your companion and suddenly weighs so heavily that it’s the only thing in sight.

Above all, though, Mark fumbles with the remnants of a love story that he never knew everything about. Ten years, you see, is a long time to spend with someone, and even longer to fall out of love with someone. Mark begins seeing it in the middle, and watches the end from a distance, observing the change through the future. He doesn’t think often about love, nor does he crave it in that sort of way, but he’s fascinated by it, and perturbed by the way it fell apart.

It’s selfish— _he_ is selfish—in that sort of way. None of this, after all, is really Mark’s story to tell, and yet he wants to get it out on paper, anyways, because it’s something complex that his mind can’t understand.

At almost two in the morning, he receives a message on his phone.

It’s a link to a Tiktok. He still refuses to download the app, so Donghyuck sends links and waits for Mark to find the time to watch them. This time it’s a video of a cat carrying a fish so large that it’s comical.

 _That cat is trying its hardest_ , Mark replies.

 _Lol_ , says Donghyuck. _Just like us_.

**Author's Note:**

> mark is me.  
> i mean this literally. i wrote this as something i really needed to sort out in my head. these are real memories that are very tangled in my brain.  
> so.  
> this is self-indulgent in the worst sort of way.  
> donghyuck is based on one of my best friends.  
> do not read into this much. there is more to everyone's stories that i am not sharing.  
> if you ended up reading this, thank you.


End file.
